


More Than Life Itself

by chainofclovers



Category: 9 to 5 (1980)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-07
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:07:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26345347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chainofclovers/pseuds/chainofclovers
Summary: Her friends had so many memories to share that Judy thought she could successfully pull off the fade she sometimes fell back on—the quiet, pleasant fade into the edge of the scene, an appreciative witness to her friends’ bright glow. Judy wasn’t shy, exactly, but she often preferred to listen.It didn’t work this time.
Relationships: Judy Bernly/Violet Newstead
Comments: 26
Kudos: 56





	More Than Life Itself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bristler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bristler/gifts).



> For Bristler, the best partner in the world, and, nearly as importantly, a woman who understands that _9 to 5_ is the perfect movie to watch when you’re happy and want to feel more happy and when you’re sad and need a hug. I hope you enjoy this potato. I mean story.
> 
> A few notes:  
> * Both the title and the epigraph come from the Elton John song “I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues” (lyrics by Bernie Taupin). The song came out in 1983 and this story takes place the same year as the movie, 1980, but we’re just gonna roll with it.  
> * Let’s just assume that enough time has passed from the Skinny & Sweet incident that Violet can enjoy coffee again.  
> * Quick content heads up: a brief reference to diet culture and some period-typical internalized homophobia, but everybody in this story is doing just fine. <3

  
_And I guess that's why they call it the blues_  
  
_Time on my hands could be time spent with you_  


—Elton John

Judy Bernly was born on December 30, and if she really thought about it, that random fact of timing probably explained a lot. When she was a kid, her parents tried to make the day special despite its close proximity to Christmas: a boxed mix cake, a present to open whenever she wanted, the offer to have friends from school over to the house. But her mother was always on a diet. It took Judy and her father a long time to eat a lopsided two-layer cake by themselves, and it always dried out before they could finish. Judy’s birthday present was always wrapped in paper printed with Santa Claus or Christmas trees. Her school friends were never available to come over during the winter holidays. 

As she crept towards adulthood, she was increasingly aware that to be born between Christmas and New Year’s was an inconvenience great enough that it was pointless to try to work around it. She grew adept at convincing her mother she’d had plenty of sweets over Christmas, and that she really didn’t need any presents that year. She stopped even thinking about attempting to plan a party.

She grew up and got married, and her husband Dick, her first real boyfriend, the man she dropped out of college to marry, tried at first, he really did. He’d bring home a sheet cake from the bakery near their house: HAPPY B-DAY JUDY! (Or, one year, the first of their marriage—HAPPY B-DAY JUDIE! “You didn’t tell them how to spell it?” Judy asked, the words just slipping out, and the critique made Dick—who indignantly explained he’d placed the order by phone and saw nothing until the cake was done—so miserable they ate their dessert in silence.) On the years he didn’t get a bakery order submitted in time, he’d suggest she bake a homemade cake—her favorite, something with lots of chocolate. Judy never told him that she actually preferred fruit desserts, a sharp tartness cutting through all the sweet. She liked chocolate perfectly well, but she didn’t crave it very often. Still, on those birthdays she’d bake the same double fudge cake she always made for Dick’s birthday in May and try not to feel ridiculous sticking candles in her own cake. 

As the years went by, Judy and Dick continued to have no children, their childlessness neither intentional nor by unlucky fate. Judy stayed home anyway, with no real purpose in life but to cook and clean and maneuver around her husband’s ego. Her birthday faded into obscurity. It didn’t matter, it wasn’t worth it, and in fact it was very far down a long list of things that didn’t matter and weren’t worth it.

After years of not giving her birthday much thought, the subject came up during a conversation with her best friends, Violet Newstead and Doralee Rhodes. They’d gathered for a happy hour at Charlie’s—the bar where their friendship was born the night Violet remembered the joint in her purse—to celebrate Doralee’s last day at work before she embarked on a mini-tour for her first album. Doralee’s birthday would take place while she was on the road, and after musing about how she might celebrate she reminisced about farmhouse breakfasts back in Tennessee, the way her mother scrimped and saved so that practically a whole week’s worth of sausage and eggs could end up on the table for a birthday feast. Violet shared next: she’d always loved her own birthday, and now she and her mother made sure the kids’ birthdays were special, too. (Judy had seen the evidence. Violet invited her over for her second-youngest Sally’s eighth birthday party, and when Judy got to the door Violet gave her a choice between a beret and a cheap old cowboy hat from a Halloween costume. “Everyone has to wear a silly hat,” Violet explained. “It’s Sal’s birthday rule.” Judy took the cowboy hat. Violet grinned when she saw her in it. “I should have just told you to bring your hat from your first day at work.”) 

Her friends had so many memories to share that Judy thought she could successfully pull off the fade she sometimes fell back on—the quiet, pleasant fade into the edge of the scene, an appreciative witness to her friends’ bright glow. Judy wasn’t shy, exactly, but she often preferred to listen.

It didn’t work this time.

“When’s your birthday, Judy?” Doralee asked during a brief conversational lull.

“December 30th.”

“Well, that stinks,” Doralee said. 

Judy shrugged, but Violet and Doralee didn’t let her off the hook. She downplayed things at first, because who in their right mind would complain about too much chocolate and parents who tried and the meaningless bad luck of a calendar page? Her friends sympathized, though, and their sympathy was a door that led to telling them everything. The problem wasn’t really about birthdays; it was about always feeling clunky, always feeling like an inconvenience, always waiting until it was too late to have an opinion or idea of her own. As she talked, she watched Violet and Doralee exchange a thoughtful glance, the mental note practically forming midair. She wished she knew what the note said, but she put it out of her mind. Violet was busy with a new role as the first female VP at Consolidated and with parenting two young children and a teenager and a kid in the miserable in-between, and Doralee was on the cusp of country western stardom, and Judy figured this moment was better off forgotten. 

⁂

A couple months later, just a few days before Christmas, Judy checked her mailbox when she got home from work and found an invitation to her own birthday party. The party would take place at Violet’s house on the 30th. Her actual birthday. It would feature catering from the little Italian place in Violet’s neighborhood, which just happened to be Judy’s favorite place to eat. Beer and wine provided. RSVP by the 27th to one of the hosts: Violet Newstead and Doralee Rhodes. 

Judy called Violet the moment she made it inside her apartment and set down her things. She perched on the kitchen counter barstool near the wall with the phone. The phone rang more than a few times before Josh answered, then wandered off to find his mother. Judy waited a long time.

“Hi, honey,” Violet finally said in her semi-ironic tone, tinged with breathlessness. “Miss me al—” 

“I got the invitation.”

“Oh.” Violet sounded uncharacteristically timid. “What do you think?”

“I’m very...touched.” A lump formed in Judy’s throat. “Is it just, you know, a little get together for the three of us girls? Doralee won’t be back for very long, and you really didn’t need to go to the trouble of printing me a formal invitation.”

Violet cleared her throat. “No, Judy, it’s an invitation to your birthday party.”

Judy rushed through the possibilities—if no one came, or there were too many people. If it was lonely and embarrassing, or if it was overwhelming and loud and she couldn’t handle it. “It’s too much. You’re too nice to me.”

“Honey, it’s just a little dinner party with friends. Don’t you think Doralee and I know what you might like? And it’s not too much—we aren’t even cooking!”

“Well, all right,” Judy said quietly. “Thank you very much.”

“Absolutely,” Violet said. “We can’t wait.” 

⁂

Judy didn’t want her birthday to ever end. Everyone was stuffed full of lasagna and scampi and tiramisu and little fruit tarts Maria Delgado baked herself. The dining room table—crowded even with the extra leaf—was littered with empty bottles of prosecco and Peroni and sparkling mineral water. The little kids kept falling asleep at the table even as they swore they weren’t tired, and Violet excused herself to cart them off to bed, then rushed back to the table. Eventually Maria and Mateo needed to get home and pay the baby-sitter, and so did Susan, and Angela and Peter. When Doralee and Dwayne left, Josh—the last sibling standing—took their departure as his cue to wander away to his room before his mother could put him on dish duty. 

She never wanted the night to end, but Judy wasn’t sad as the crowd dwindled. She sat back in her chair, not to fade but to relive the blur: Doralee’s stories from the road, Elton John on the record player, the trick candle precariously balanced in her fruit tart, the way her cheeks burned as her friends sang “Happy Birthday,” the gifts and laughter and hugs that didn’t feel like post-Christmas charity but like love. 

The party was wonderful, but Judy’s thoughts returned to earlier in the evening, after work and before the party began. Violet told her she could come over as early as she wanted but that she wouldn’t be allowed to help set up, and when she arrived Violet practically forced her to put her feet up on the couch and drink a martini. Judy had watched as Violet and Josh brought Christmas lights in from outside and strung them up in the dining room, then bickered fondly at each other while wrestling the leaf into the table. Sally and Michelle kept coming up to Judy and offering to do her hair and nails for the party, and every time Violet lovingly chided her daughters, pointing out that Judy already looked perfect and that every manicure they’d ever given _her_ had turned out completely insane. The dog loped up and rested his head under one of Judy’s feet, sidestepping the “no dogs on the couch” rule but only barely. Maybe it was the vodka on an empty stomach, or leftover wistfulness from her quiet Christmas visit with her parents, but Judy closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of Violet’s house—Violet’s voice rising above all the noise like she was some kind of cruise director—and prayed _Let me stay_ to a God she didn’t even believe in.

Then Doralee and Dwayne burst through the door, each loaded down with bags of Italian food. When Doralee saw her she squealed, set the bags down on the floor, and ran to the couch for a hug.

“It’s too much,” Judy said, still smothered in Doralee’s arms, trying to keep a firm grip on her martini glass. “You’re all too much.” 

“Darlin’, we’re your people,” Doralee said. “You really think Violet was gonna let you go un-feted on your birthday?”

“When hell freezes over!” Violet shouted from the other room.

It had only taken place a few hours ago, but already Judy told and retold the moment to herself, conscious of its preciousness. She wanted to commit it to memory, to have it forever.

⁂

When the party was over, it didn’t feel over. Judy stood with Violet at the sink, finally allowed to help. She dried every dish Violet handed her, put them carefully back into cabinets whose organizational principles she’d learned over months of spending time here. The house was dark except for the colorful string of Christmas lights glowing in the dining room and the brighter light from the lamp over the kitchen sink, a spotlight that shined in Violet’s dark hair and lit up the top of her nose.

“This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” Judy said.

Violet stood closer, still elbow deep in suds, and nudged Judy’s hip with hers. “Good. You deserve it. I mean, look, it’s _your_ birthday and you’re the only one who stuck around to help with dishes.”

“It’s the least I can do,” Judy said lightly. More lightly than she felt. 

She wondered how it was possible to feel so happy, so full, so satisfied, so loved, and to remain full of longing. As an only child who grew up to be an unhappy wife and then a single woman, she had always been afraid of her own potential for selfishness, and she tended to inspect what she wanted very carefully and critically. This longing was new, a precipice that left her wondering what was going to happen without being able to see the possibilities clearly, without giving her proof of an obvious self-serving tendency that she needed to interrogate and eradicate. Tonight the only thing she saw clearly was the light above the sink, Violet’s hands gripping a dish and the sponge, the little smile on her face because she pulled off a successful party and made Judy happy. Judy thought of herself on the couch before the party began, all the visits from Violet’s kids, from the dog. She couldn’t imagine what would happen when there were no more dishes in the sink. She forced herself to think of it—she’d drive home and spend the rest of the night alone in her apartment. Of course that was what she would do. Her apartment was always a little dingy even though she kept it very clean. It was the right size for one person but always felt a little big, like she rattled around in it, or a little small, like she wanted something more. _Let me stay_ , she thought again, and the idea of staying was an antidote to the image of the lonely apartment but was also, she realized, the thing she would want even if she didn’t have anything to dread. It was such a sweet thing to want, so sweet that wanting it felt both happy and sad.

“I have a little something for you,” Violet said. 

Judy had dried the last dish without realizing. “Oh, Violet, you’ve already—” The trained deference in her words was automatic, uttered without a thought. 

“Jesus, Judy, how about you let someone be nice to you for two seconds. Come sit on the couch with me.”

As Judy followed Violet into the living room, she imagined following her into her bedroom, walking into that room for the first time. She didn’t even know what would happen, or what she would want to happen, but the first step would be the walk down the hallway and into the room. She didn’t want to go home, and she realized that if she didn’t want to go home, she wanted to fall asleep in Violet’s bed. She wanted to wake up in the morning and have another day with her. Consolidated was closed for the rest of the week, and she wanted to spend the long stretch of free time with Violet. Even with the kids around, and the dog, and visits from Violet’s nosy mother. The full house sounded nice, and at night she and Violet would be alone together, alone in bed—and that’s why, Judy realized then, people slept together. It was because they wanted to be alone with each other. Because they loved the world and loved each other in the world, but needed something private and separate, a small shared space behind a shut door. Judy didn’t have time to conclude the thought. Didn’t have time to remind herself that Violet was a great friend and nothing more. Didn’t have time to conceive of herself as a person who needed that reminder.

She sat on the couch. Violet sat right beside her and handed her a small jewelry box made of navy blue velvet. 

Judy held the box in both palms and looked at Violet as if waiting for instruction.

Violet grinned. “Open it.”

Judy’s hand trembled a little as she nudged the box open with her thumb. A necklace rested on a creamy satin bed. She ran her finger over the fine gold chain, each link almost impossibly delicate, and followed the line of the chain down to the pendant, a tiny flat heart with a simple sans-serif J etched in the center. Judy beamed, and there was relief on Violet’s face. “I absolutely love it, Violet, I love it so much, I—will you help me put it on?”

“Sure.” Violet tugged gently at the red silk scarf Judy added to her outfit after work and before the party, pulled until the folds gave way and the scarf laid limp in her hands. She set the scarf on Judy’s lap and took back the jewelry box, pulled carefully at hidden tabs to release the necklace from the satin. Judy reached behind her and lifted the hair from her neck, scooted around enough that Violet would have a clear view. Violet clasped the necklace in place, brushing her thumb just barely against Judy’s skin before she pulled away again. “Let me see,” she said.

Judy turned around again, letting her hair fall. There was love in Violet’s eyes. In that moment Judy felt a glimmering pulse in her heart—an instinct, maybe, which she’d always heard women have, which she’d been told couldn’t lead her wrong. She wanted to kiss Violet, wanted to respond to what she saw in her eyes. She leaned close and decided the kiss would land where it wanted to land. Her lips touched Violet’s—just briefly, barely a kiss, barely anything. Judy kept beaming as she pulled away. Violet loved her. It was there in her eyes, in her gift, in her thumb as it brushed against the sensitive skin on the back of her neck. 

“Oh, Judy,” Violet whispered. She looked stricken. No love lost, but nothing gained, either. “We can’t.”

Judy froze. She let the jewelry box fall to her lap, where it landed on the scarf. She brought her hand to her mouth. “I’m sorry,” she said. 

Violet forced a smile. “You understand, don’t you, honey?”

“Yes,” Judy said quietly. She felt nauseated and cold, a dirty glass full of ice water in stupid human form. She looked down. “You don’t feel the same way.” She looked up again, back up at Violet, almost as quickly. She couldn’t read the expression on Violet’s face. There was too much clouding the happiness that had been there before, the open expression Judy must have misread as a specific kind of love. “I didn’t mean to ruin things, Violet, I didn’t even realize I was going to do that until I did it. I’m so sorry.” She thought about finding an excuse—she’d had too much to drink, she was still swept away in the fun of the party—but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. 

“My new job is a lot of pressure.” Violet stopped making eye contact with Judy, looking instead at the wall behind her head. “And when I’m not at Consolidated, the kids take up all my energy, and—” She sighed, and Judy knew the real reason was about to come out of her mouth. “It would kill my mother.”

“So it’s not about—about me?” 

Violet shook her head, the movement muted and small. Judy had seen her this upset only one other time: when Violet believed she’d accidentally poisoned Mr. Hart, then stole his body from the hospital, and then Doralee realized she’d taken the wrong one. They’d all panicked a little, but the memory was hilarious even if they’d done an objectively awful thing. Violet had been entirely in the moment, entirely reactive, and Doralee and Judy had to beg her to drive safely, to calm down. Tonight was different. Violet sounded resigned, like she’d been waiting for the right moment to say “We can’t.” Like she had a list of reasons in her pocket. “No,” Violet said. “It’s not about you. You’re wonderful.” 

“And it’s not because—” Judy swallowed. This entire conversation was a nightmare totally unlike anything she’d ever experienced. “Because I’m a woman.” 

“When I was with Jerry, God love him, there was always something missing.” Violet’s shoulders went rigid. “It was a choice that I made, a conscious choice to marry him anyway. I wanted children, and I wanted an office career, and I did what I needed to do to, um, to make that work. For me.” 

“Before Jerry, did you ever, um—” 

The pained look in Violet’s eyes said that yes, she did. Before Jerry.

“I didn’t know how I felt until just now,” Judy said. “I mean, I knew I thought the world of you, you’re my dearest friend, but—” 

“Please don’t," Violet said. “It isn’t possible.”

“Well, I don’t see why not.” Judy’s face stung with heat. A layer of anger wove its way through the longing, the disappointment. It was so unfair. She set her jaw to keep her mouth from quivering and lifted her chin. “I don’t see why two people who care about each other shouldn’t be able to—to enjoy each other.” 

Violet’s eyes filled with tears. “You just started thinking about this?”

Judy nodded. “Yes. I think so.”

“And you’re so sure.” 

“I think so,” Judy said, but it didn’t sound right. “No,” she added. “I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m sure.” 

Judy wanted to tell Violet she was her favorite person. That Violet’s job didn’t feel like a problem to her. Violet wasn’t Judy’s supervisor anymore, and even if there was a conflict of interest Judy was a good secretary, and she could find work somewhere else easily enough. And Violet’s mother, so helpful with the childcare, might have been a bit of a bigot, but surely Violet had raised her own children better—had raised them to be more open, more accepting, even if Violet herself struggled. Judy grasped for clues: they’d just spent the whole party listening to Elton John, and Judy remembered—like it was yesterday—Dick looking up from the latest _Rolling Stone_ and laughing about Elton John declaring himself bisexual in an interview. She hadn’t known what to say at the time, and had tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. Judy couldn’t imagine a kid like Josh reacting in the same way Dick did, aggressive and dismissive and small-minded. But Elton John was a rockstar, and a man, and maybe it was different when it was your own mother, a woman who supposedly loved your dead father. Maybe it wasn’t possible. 

“Well, maybe you should think about it for a little longer than five minutes,” Violet said, not unkindly. “We’ll always be friends, we can just move on and pretend this—”

Judy stood, collecting the jewelry box and scarf in her arms. “I should go,” she said, voice breaking. Her purse and coat hung on the rack by the front door. She grabbed them, not bothering to put the coat on. “Thanks for the party.”

“Judy—”

Judy didn’t wait for Violet to finish her sentence. She hurried out to her car, threw everything onto the passenger seat, and sat behind the wheel. But before she turned the key in the ignition, she realized her view of the street before her was a little tunneled, a little skewed. She was still slightly intoxicated from the party. She couldn’t drive, but she couldn’t go back inside to sober up, either. It didn’t seem right to waste fuel, so she sat alone in the cold and the dark. 

The minutes dripped past, collected into half an hour. Although she was alone, she cried as quietly as she could. She hated hysterics; she’d had enough hysterics to last a lifetime. She’d felt so bitter when Dick left her. He’d thrown away all the time and energy and effort she’d given him like none of it mattered. That bitter taste was nothing compared to this sharper, wilder pain—the pain of a possibility shut down, a path narrowed unnecessarily. The realization had happened so quickly, but it was obvious to Judy now that she’d loved Violet since she met her. She never turned down an invitation to spend time with her, or with Doralee. She put up with all the workday mundanities—mundane even now that the office was so well-run, and with equitable policies in place—without complaint because Consolidated was the place she found community. Now she’d gone too far and Violet had to put an end to it. It hurt when Dick threw away their past. It hurt worse for Violet to suggest they could pretend they’d never seen what the future could be.

Despite the hurt, Judy couldn’t stop imagining the direction she’d wanted her birthday to go. She wished she was still in Violet’s house. She was a little shocked at herself for adapting to the idea so quickly, but she wanted Violet to smile at her as she shut the bedroom door behind them. She wanted to kiss Violet again, and for longer this time. She wanted to feel Violet against her in bed. Violet made her feel safe, and they had adventures, and that’s what she wanted from the kiss and the imagined invitation that would follow. The imagined love. Soft sheets, cozy blankets, their hands against each other’s skin. 

If she couldn’t have that warmth, it was better to be out here in the cold. That thought made Judy smile through her tears, alone in the freezing car on an emotional rollercoaster, aware of her own ridiculousness. 

Just a moment later she startled, sensing movement right next to the car. Violet stood at the driver’s side door, cringing as if she knew scaring Judy was probably inevitable. Eyebrows raised, Violet pointed as if to ask permission to walk around the car to sit in the passenger’s seat. Judy nodded and leaned over to throw her coat, scarf, and purse into the backseat. She set the jewelry box on the console.

“I was about to go get ready for bed,” Violet said. “But when I went to close the curtain I saw your car. It’s freezing out here!”

“It’s California.”

“Well, that doesn’t override the actual temperature—” 

“I couldn’t drive yet,” Judy explained. “So I had to stay.” 

Violet was quiet for a long time before she spoke again. “You surprised me tonight. I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me. Not so...openly. I thought we’d just enjoy our friendship and let that be enough.”

“And never date men, and never talk about dating men?”

Violet chuckled. “And never talk about men, period.”

“Not after we got rid of Hart.”

“Right.”

“But what about Doralee? She likes men. Why hasn’t she tried to set us up with guys? Wouldn’t she want us to have the same happiness she has with Dwayne?”

“I think Doralee understands that not everyone needs the same thing.”

Judy turned to look at Violet. Violet already faced her. “I’m sorry I surprised you,” Judy said. “I surprised myself, too.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I’ve disappointed you.”

Judy weighed her next words before she spoke them out loud. She wasn’t tipsy anymore. There was still love in Violet’s expression. She could see it and trust what she saw. “I’m pretty good at keeping a secret,” she said. “I don’t need you to take out an ad in the paper.”

“You deserve one, though.”

Judy tangled her cold-stiffened fingers in her lap, and Violet reached over to warm them with her hand. “I wouldn’t want one,” Judy said. “You always try to be ten steps ahead. With your kids, with Consolidated, with taking care of the house, with managing your mother. I don’t expect that, okay? I don’t even want that. This is new for me, too.”

Violet exhaled, her frozen breath visible in the air between them. “Okay.” 

“Can we try again?” Judy asked. “Please? But only if—only if you really want to.”

Violet leaned closer, and Judy had just enough time to feel nervous, to feel the way a kiss would change things. She tilted her face in invitation anyway. Their lips met, soft and hot despite the cold, and as they kissed Violet took her hand away from Judy’s hands and stroked her fingertips down the side of Judy’s cheek, brought her other hand to her shoulder to hold her as close she could manage. Even this simple touch tingled up and down Judy’s spine. She immediately wanted more, and she wrapped her arms around Violet to show it. Wanted more not only because it was the best way to show the other person your appreciation and focus but because her body ached for it. Was finally telling her brain what it needed. When they stopped kissing, she pulled back a little to look at Violet but she didn’t take her arms away. She couldn’t stop smiling; this time, Violet smiled back, and some of her panic visibly receded.

“It was the best birthday ever. Thank you.”

Violet grinned. “We did pretty good, didn’t we?”

“You really did.” They let go of each other, and Judy looked at the road in front of her. Dull orange street lights illuminated the sidewalks, the small front yards with a tree or two each, the narrow street itself. Everything felt clear. “I’m okay to drive again,” she said. “I think—I’m going to head home.” Violet cringed a little, seemed to want to say something, but Judy didn’t want an invitation Violet wasn’t truly ready to give. She still hated the thought of going home alone to her apartment, but the desire to stay now felt like anticipation, like something she could bear to wait to come true. “It’s okay,” Judy whispered. “I’ll see you soon.” 

“Goodnight,” Violet said. “Happy birthday.” She leaned close and pecked Judy on the cheek, then stepped out of the car and stood watching in the street with her arms wrapped around herself as Judy drove away. 

⁂

The phone rang mid-morning. Judy cleared her throat before she answered. She was moving slowly—she had only just dressed, and she hadn’t even put any coffee on to brew. “Hello?”

“Judy, darling, we tried you all day yesterday! Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Mom,” Judy said. 

“You didn’t have your phone off the hook, did you? Dick bothering you again?”

Judy smiled patiently. “No, I was at work all day.” Judy’s mother hadn’t worked outside the home since she left her department store job to marry Judy’s father. Judy forgot sometimes how foreign her life was to her mother. She hoped the reminder would stick this time. “And then my—my friends Violet and Doralee threw me a birthday party last night, and I was out pretty late at that. It was a wonderful day.”

“Any nice single men at this birthday party of yours?”

“No,” Judy said, “just the old married kind. But that’s okay, it was a really nice party.”

“I’m glad, darling.”

They didn’t talk much longer after that. Her mother passed on well wishes and love from her father, who rarely bothered to get on the line. After they got off the phone, her mother would siphon Judy’s paltry news into an update for him, something quick and simple.

When Judy hung up, she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. For the first time, she knew what it felt like to need to hide something specific about herself. When she and her friends kidnapped Hart, she evaded her mother’s questions about what she was doing after work with hardly a second thought. This secret was different: it was personal. It was about who she was.

For the millionth time since waking up she thought about the night before with Violet. _It would kill my mother_. Judy realized she had no idea if she’d ever be able to tell her parents the truth of what Violet was to her, however well she and Violet worked things out together. With no small measure of sadness, she imagined slipping farther away from them, or—worse or better?—telling them a truth they couldn’t live with. The relief of honesty followed by the pain of rejection. Telling the truth didn’t seem like a fantastic option, but neither did hiding. It hurt her last night, when Violet immediately jumped into a worst-case scenario, but Judy understood her better now that she felt the unspoken depths of her life pressing against the shallow news she could safely share. 

⁂

Exactly one year ago, Judy spent the final night of 1979 seated alone in her new apartment on her second-hand couch with its ugly green upholstery and comfortable cushions. She’d spent most of the money Dick gave her when they parted ways on the deposit and first month’s rent for the apartment, a grocery run, and the cleanest, neatest furniture she could find in the thrift stores downtown. She visited her parents for Christmas that year, spent the whole visit evading questions about the divorce, and cut the visit short with the excuse that she was anxious to get back and set up her new place. She marked her birthday with nothing but a call from her mother, nothing to say since they’d just seen each other. Somehow, the end of the year still managed to sneak up on her. She didn’t have a TV yet, and she didn’t bother to find a new year’s countdown on the radio, but she figured she’d stay up until midnight anyway. She wanted to see the first minutes of 1980 for herself. 

One year ago she’d never walked through the doors at Consolidated. She’d never met Violet or Doralee. She’d never gone on any adventures. She didn’t know she was bad at remembering slang and terrible at making photocopies. She didn’t know she was excellent at untangling phone lines and calming frustrated callers and formatting business letters. She didn’t realize she was interesting enough to have friends. She had no idea what she was capable of, what she wanted, who she really was.

She lit a candle that night and let the apartment grow dark except for its flame. As the old year flickered to a close, she promised herself that in the new year she’d find a job. She didn’t want to rely on her soon-to-be ex-husband for anything. She cried a little, not because she still needed to mourn what she had lost but because it was scary to face a new decade alone. To sit at the start of it totally unable to see forward. She promised herself that no matter what it held, 1980 would end differently.

Tonight, although she once again sat alone after a solitary dinner on the same ugly green couch as the latest old year dwindled, Judy decided she’d kept her promise to herself. It had been a long time since she thought about New Year’s Eve 1979. She’d been too busy living the life she wanted to think about what it had been like to long for it, to have sat on the precipice of a new decade trying to imagine herself into being. 

For the millionth time that day, she wondered if she should call Violet. She didn’t want to crowd her, but she’d thought they might make time to see each other that day. She pondered the question so long that it became too late to call. 

At a little past eleven o’clock, there was a knock on the door, and Judy’s heart leapt to her throat as she hurried to open it, vaguely aware that her hair was probably a mess and that her feet were bare beneath the cuffs of her favorite day-off-from-work jeans. Violet stood on her welcome mat, bundled in the long wool coat she brought out only when it was really cold. In one hand, she held a bottle of champagne; in the other, a small bouquet of carnations wrapped in brown paper. 

“You didn’t call,” Violet said. The grin on her face showed she was aware of the blatant hypocrisy. 

“Neither did you. I kept wondering if I should.” 

“I didn’t want to crowd you,” Violet said, a rueful expression on her face. “But as it got later and later I realized I’d regret it if I didn’t try. Josh is keeping an eye on things at home. I told him if he so much as walks onto the front porch he won’t get to go to a concert or a party ‘til he’s eighteen.” She rolled her eyes. She meant business, but Judy knew how much Violet appreciated Josh, how much she trusted him. 

“What’d you tell him?”

“That I needed to go see you. Can I come in?”

Judy stepped to the side to make room, and for the first time ever Violet stood in the middle of her apartment. She’d been outside to pick Judy up or drop her off plenty of times, but until tonight she’d never come inside. 

“Make yourself at home,” Judy said, veering dangerously close to nervous small-talk territory. She realized she’d shoved her hands deep inside her pockets and forced herself to pull them out. “I can’t believe you’ve never been here before.”

“You never invited me in,” Violet pointed out. “I didn’t want to pry.”

“It’s not the greatest apartment in the world. Your house is much better.” It was all true, but she didn’t want to insult the place, which had its merits. “I’ll always be grateful for it, though. This place gave me freedom.”

Violet looked around, and Judy saw the place through her eyes. Felt how quiet it was, how adult it was. Experienced its size and solace as an appealing possibility of privacy. “I like it,” Violet said.

“Thanks.” Judy smiled. “Can I get you anything?”

“A place to put these?” Violet asked, holding up the carnations.

Judy thought but didn’t say _How rude of me_. Violet loved her. Violet knew she was nervous. She didn’t have to be the perfect host. She walked to the kitchen cabinets and pulled out a tall glass that would work as a vase. She took the flowers from Violet and thanked her. As she unwrapped the paper, trimmed the ends, and placed the blooms in water, Violet shrugged out of her coat and set it on a chair with her purse, rummaged in the cabinet for two small glasses. With only a little effort, she uncorked the bottle with a quiet pop and poured for them both. “I wanted to get you irises,” Violet said. She wore black boots and black jeans and a plain black t-shirt, her kimono-style top—Judy’s favorite of all Violet’s clothes—layered over it. “Or daisies or roses or anything but those carnations, but pickings were slim at the all-night grocery.”

“They’re sweet,” Judy said.

“Showing up here with carnations makes me feel like a third-grader with a crush.”

Judy blushed. 

And then they sat on the couch where Judy ended 1979 by herself and waited for the new year to arrive together.

“I talked to Doralee today,” Violet said between sips of champagne. “I told her—” She stared down at her glass. “I told her about how I feel about you.” Before Judy could respond, she quickly added, “I didn’t mention anything that happened after the party last night, I just needed to talk to someone who doesn’t filter everything that happens in their love life through my mother’s opinions. I hope you don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind.” Judy cleared her throat. “Did she take it well?”

“She did,” Violet said. “You know Doralee. She’s very non-judgmental.”

“I don’t want her to feel like we’re abandoning our trio. She’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had.” 

“You know, she said the same thing about us. But she said Dwayne is her best friend, too, in a different kind of way, and she gets it.” Violet chuckled softly. “She wants the three of us to get lunch before she leaves town again.”

Although Judy knew deep down that Doralee wouldn’t be angry, she was comforted to have confirmation that she’d reacted well. She promised herself right then and there to make sure she was always available for Doralee’s calls from the road, and to invite her to spend time with her and Violet and with her alone whenever she was in town. Judy had lost herself in a relationship before, and although there were a million different things about this one she knew she’d have to work to make sure it didn’t happen again. Tonight, though, there was no need to get ahead of herself. 

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Judy said softly, setting her champagne glass down on the glorified TV tray she used as a coffee table. Violet followed suit. “I’m sure it’s almost midnight,” Judy said when their hands were empty. She turned her body to face Violet, scooted closer until one of her knees pressed against Violet’s thigh. Her shoulders crept towards her ears, and she felt the now-familiar flutter of anticipatory nerves. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes,” Violet said emphatically. 

They kissed as 1980 came to an end and kissed in the early minutes of 1981. Judy’s happy brain and happy body told her what to do, and let her feel how Violet responded. They had time to relax into it, to figure out that Judy liked to lean back against the cushions and pull Violet closer, and Violet liked to be pulled. Judy wanted to feel Violet’s weight against her, on top of her, and once they managed to lay down together she couldn’t make up her mind between smoothing her hands down the strong muscles of Violet’s back or brushing her fingers against her neck and the side of her face. She liked to nibble on Violet’s lower lip, and Violet liked to press kisses into the corner of Judy’s mouth and trail her lips down her jawline until she could delicately lick the skin beneath her ear, Judy gasping in shocked pleasure. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Judy said when they paused to breathe. It was true, of course, but it sounded strange to hear herself utter the words she was supposed to want a man to say about her. Now she wanted nothing more than for Violet to believe her words were true. Violet absorbed the compliment and echoed it with her smile, and the strangeness faded.

“ _You’re_ beautiful,” Violet said a few minutes later. “I’ve always thought you were the loveliest person.”

They kissed and held each other for such a long time that Judy got her thoughts back. She could start to imagine what would happen next. Everything felt so different tonight than it ever had before—different even from last night, those tentative explorations. 

When Judy was a college student, there were a lot of considerations to contend with: how fast you were, and what kind of reputation you wanted, and if you believed in free love, and if you wanted to be a good girl, and if you wanted the boys to like you, and if you wanted certain kinds of girls to respect you, or if you didn’t care about all that. It was too much to parse. Dick found her so quickly, and Judy spent the early weeks of her relationship demuring as he tried to go farther and farther, dodging her friends’ questions when they teased her about how serious things must have been getting. When she finally gave up her virginity to him, it hurt—but not as much as she feared it would—and it was over pretty quickly and that was that. They were on a path together, paved by a zillion other couples who went before them. She never got a chance to figure out if that was what she actually wanted. 

“Stay tonight?” Judy whispered, tilting her head up to look at Violet more clearly. It wasn’t too fast. She knew who she was, and so did Violet. 

“Okay,” Violet said immediately. She lightly kissed Judy on her forehead, then her nose, then her lips. “I have to be back pretty early tomorrow morning, but you could come with me, if you want? To come spend the day with us?”

Judy nodded. The promise of tomorrow filled her with happiness. 

She held Violet’s hand as they headed into the bedroom. “I changed the sheets a couple days ago,” Judy stammered. “I’m a very clean person, and—”

Violet laughed, the laughing-with-you- _and_ -laughing-at-you sound that never failed to fill Judy with warmth, but she was serious as she watched Judy begin to undress and pulled her own layers of clothing away from her body. With their eyes and then with their hands, they received each other’s shapes, each other’s skin.

Under the covers, the bedroom dark but for the glow of the lamp on Judy’s nightstand, Judy lay on her back and Violet propped herself up next to her and trailed her fingers against Judy’s ribcage and stomach, swirled them up higher, then back down to tease the tops of her thighs. She skated an endless number of paths, an endless series of combinations. Their heightened breath seemed to rush against the slow patterns traced in Judy’s skin, the sound steady and quick. 

Violet waited to touch between Judy’s legs until Judy was ready, asking for it with her words and her breath and the tremble that sank into her muscles the longer Violet touched her. Judy laughed when Violet touched her there the first time—the touch wasn’t unexpected, but the feeling it created was. It didn’t tickle, exactly, and it was just a little gentle pressure against her clit and the soft areas around it, but it felt like Violet entered an area of her body that had rarely felt anything extraordinary. It surprised her, but after a couple minutes she settled into the feeling of that touch, too, just as she settled into Violet’s lips against hers, Violet’s body against hers on the couch. She closed her eyes for a few minutes, and when she opened them she saw the concentration on Violet’s face, the way the love that gently insisted upon itself was stronger and deeper now that they had connected in this way. 

“Your skin feels so good,” Violet said. She climbed on top of Judy, sped up her movements, and when Judy realized she could press her thigh between Violet’s legs she did so, and Violet moaned. “Can you—” she gasped. “Can you, um—” 

For a moment, Judy froze, but then she realized there was enough space for her to touch Violet if she wedged her fingers into the small gap between Violet’s core and her own thigh. They could move together then, could feel pleasure echo between them. Judy felt wrapped in contrasts, the sensation almost painfully perfect: Violet was soft and wet, but she was also strong and warm, and she looked down at Judy like Judy was all of those things, too. 

“Oh, I can’t—” Violet said suddenly, and interrupted herself with a cry, muted but intense. She slowed the movement of her hips, but she didn’t stop pressing herself against Judy’s hand, and she didn’t slow her touches. Judy felt like she did right before she started to cry, the tingling hot feeling pressed against her face, except this time she felt it everywhere—her thighs, her stomach, between her legs, everywhere Violet had ever looked or touched or thought about touching. The moment before her orgasm rushed into the moment it happened, every nerve lit up and focused and full of joy.

Afterward, Violet called it _coming_. “It was so amazing to feel you come,” she said, flopping back down on the mattress next to Judy. She seemed lighter, more confident, focused but unserious. She seemed like Violet. “I can’t wait to do that a million more times.” 

Judy smiled, bliss-weakened. “I’m not going to turn that down,” she said. It all seemed easy in the middle of the night at the start of a new year. 

⁂

In the morning, the smoggy grey city sun stretched under the curtains like a luxury. As soon as Judy woke up she remembered by feel that Violet was there, curled up next to her in bed. She reached out and touched Violet’s naked back under the covers, and Violet stretched and turned to face her. 

“It’s still early,” Judy whispered. “Let me take you out to breakfast before we go back.” She liked being able to suggest taking Violet somewhere, treating her to breakfast at a place she’d come to love, nearly as much as she liked the thought of Violet treating her, bringing her home. They were both beautiful. They both had little homes to offer, places they could be together, places they could share their love.

Judy’s favorite diner was a little corner spot not far from her apartment, a nondescript sort of diner that could have been built thirty years ago or last week. It was bigger than it looked from the outside, with a long chrome-edged counter running nearly the entire length of one side, perfect for a single person to sit quietly or chat with the waitress or for a group of any size who wanted to watch their eggs being cooked. The diner was hushed, like the day hadn’t quite begun. Judy and Violet walked to the counter, where the only customers were a couple of men at the end of the bar who looked like they’d sipped coffee in that exact spot every morning for the last forty years. They chose two stools at the other end and perched together. 

The waitress approached with coffee. “You two are either teetotalers or you really know how to hold your liquor, because you look way too happy for New Year’s Day.” 

Judy and Violet grinned at each other. 

“I’m just glad we beat the hangover crowd,” Violet said to the waitress. “You’ll have your work cut out for you today.”

With a little thrill in her stomach, Judy wondered what the waitress assumed about them. It was so early in the morning, too early for two friends—other than the old men at the other end of the counter, maybe—to travel from separate locations to meet for breakfast. They’d arrived together, and anyone in the world would be able to tell. She watched Violet take her first sip of coffee and didn’t miss the tiny sigh of satisfaction. It reminded her she hadn’t taken a sip of her own. She brought the mug to her lips, and she felt Violet watch her with the same happiness. Judy thought abruptly of the word Violet used the night before: to _come_. Like she’d been somewhere else, and now she was here.

**Author's Note:**

> I have loved this movie and these characters for years, but this was my first venture into writing anything for this fandom. Thank you so much for reading. It's always nerve-wracking to post something totally new, so if you have any thoughts to share, it would mean a lot to me to hear them.


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